


Say What You Mean

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, implied frickle frackle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why do you say <em>We’re family</em>?”   Dean’s face betrayed nothing, waiting to see where this was going. </p><p> “Why do you say <em>I need you?</em>” At this Dean blanched, a look of panic starting to bloom in his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Say What You Mean

Castiel was aware that the brothers exchanged looks when he stared too long, head tipped, trying to understand.  They might act annoyed, but he sensed they were secretly pleased, sure their clever conversation was beyond his comprehension, that in the realm of spoken word they were more cunning than a celestial being.  Nothing could be further from the truth, but Cas permitted them to maintain this belief, finding their naïveté endearing. 

 

In fact, it was their method of speaking that he found perplexing: the way they purposefully and willfully refused to say what they meant.

 

This was a uniquely human trait, this obfuscation of meaning. He wondered how much more humanity as a whole-- this infuriating and enchanting species, with their natural inclination towards kindness and innovation and individuality--could have accomplished had they not wasted precious time dancing around intent. How much greater would their achievements be, spreading throughout the universe, if they simply permitted their words to match their feelings?

 

 

(He’d seen Sam and Dean go so far as to play a game made of hand gestures instead of saying, “Yes, I want to” or “No, I don’t”.  A game Dean so consistently and predictably loses that Castiel wonders if he does it on purpose.)

 

 

Humans used words as bricks, fashioning walls out of sentences, creating barriers that shielded their delicate psyches.  Everything they said was veiled in references and half-truths and jokes until the true intent was buried safely away.  They all knew a single, truthful word could demolish their armaments but it seemed they’d made a mass agreement to pretend otherwise. 

 

 

And because this façade was so tremulous, so threatened by the possibility of honesty and candor, when he himself asked genuine questions or spoke truthfully of meaningful bonds, he was reprimanded and made to feel childish. 

 

 

The worst part was there was no need for it to be so complicated.  All of communication boiled down to so few words: _want need desire love hate angry sad happy scared_.  Simple, short words that seemed to catch in their throats. 

 

That was what baffled him, left him squinting and staring.  He could pare their muddied speech down to the core, the meanings stripped bare, but they themselves refused to acknowledge it.  Maybe he didn’t have specific knowledge of the _what_ –the movie title, the comic book character—but the _why_ was always crystal clear. 

 

Castiel knew he was being unfair, generalizing about an entire planet in this way when even here in the microcosm of the bunker he saw individual differences.  More often than not, Sam could be counted on to speak sincerely, but attempts to encourage his brother to do the same were steadfastly rejected, met with mockery and dismissal if not outright hostility. 

 

It was this frustration that led him to Dean’s room one night, although the hour was late.  He’d intended on a calm and rational discussion, an attempt to clarify and categorize whatever it was that drew them together, but when Dean had dismissed him before he’d uttered a word, pronouncing it _too late for chick-flick moments_ something inside of Cas broke.  

 

He was across the room in a blur pulling Dean out of bed and shoving him against the wall, both hands fisted in the material of his shirt. Dean didn’t resist, merely squaring his shoulders, a slight smirk on his face, green eyes blazing.  Cas knew the pleasure Dean took in provoking him to violence was another layer in the twisted way they communicated and that by succumbing to it, he’d already lost this round. 

 

All thoughts of levelheaded discussion evaporated and Castiel shook him as he growled the words that burned inside him.

 

 “Why do you say _We’re family_?”   Dean’s face betrayed nothing, waiting to see where this was going. 

 

“Why do you say _I need you_?” At this Dean blanched, a look of panic starting to bloom in his eyes.  

 

Cas knew there was no turning back now.

 

“When what you mean is _I love you_?”

 

In an instant, the mask of bravado was gone from Dean’s face.   He hesitated and Castiel could see him considering and discarding words, holding and turning them like stones at the shore.  Maybe he’d choose something to break the tension, maybe a cutting remark, maybe more denial or yet another lie.  

 

Castiel let go of him, then, because whatever came next, he didn’t want it to be because Dean’s back was literally to the wall.

 

Dean stared at the ground.  When he raised his eyes again, Cas could see he’d made a decision, selected a rock from the pile.   Castiel knew he’d gone too far this time and braced himself.

 

“Because if I told you I loved you and you left, it would hurt worse than if I’d never said it at all.”

 

Of all the things he’d anticipated--rejection, disparagement, even being hit-–he hadn’t once considered the possibility of a truthful response. The impact of these words took him by surprise, causing a thrill of warmth and bewilderment to flow though him.

 

“Why would I leave?” asked Cas, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Why would you stay?” said Dean, his face as open as a child’s.

 

Cas was willing to overlook the fact that he’d answered his question with another question because Dean was reaching for his hand, pulling him close, the words pouring endlessly out of him like a river. “I love you,” he whispered in Cas’ ear, one hand in his hair, and he murmured it between kisses to his eyelids and temple and jaw and he traced the words with his fingertips on the back of his neck and between his shoulder blades.

 

They would be the last words Cas heard before they fell asleep, entangled and breathless and spent, and the first thing he heard when he woke the next morning, whispered against his collarbone, before his eyes were even open. 


End file.
